


Hyacinth

by Anchestor



Series: He loves me, he loves me not... [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Pining, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchestor/pseuds/Anchestor
Summary: “You know, we’ve met before, actually.” Gaster said, careful to keep his tone casual.Grillby looked up from the glass, and studied Gaster’s face.“I don’t… What did you say your name was?” Grillby said slowly, unsurely.“Gaster. I’m doctor W. D. Gaster.”Royal scientist, father of Sans and Papyrus, andyour goddamn lover!Not a flicker. Not a spark. Nothing.“I don’t…” Grillby slowly shook his head.“It’s alright.” It took Gaster everything he had to keep his face even. To keep himself together.“It was a very long time ago. I’m not expecting you to remember.”





	Hyacinth

**Author's Note:**

> By popul- well, by _demand_ , an independent sequel to Forget me not! Reading that first is recommended but not mandatory ^^

He only came on nights when it rained. The raindrops would rap against the window glass, the air would be cool and smell so wonderfully crisp, and there he would stand: A tall, slender figure obscured by an umbrella, silhouetted by the headlights of passing cars.

The first time Grillby thought nothing of it. It took hours for him to even notice that the dark figure standing in front of the window of the bar had been there for all night. A little odd, perhaps. But then again, Grillby could easily spin up a dozen of reasons for a stranger to stand outside his bar. Maybe he was waiting for the rain to let up in the shelter of the folded in terrace roof. Maybe he had agreed to meet someone, and the neon letters served as a beacon to mark the place of the encounter. Maybe…

Maybe, maybe, maybe. The stranger outside his window had nothing to do with him. So Grillby decided to think nothing of it and concentrate on his customers.

Yes, once means nothing. Once is something to observe, to wonder, to forget.

Twice is a coincidence.

On the third time Grillby began to feel like he should do something about the situation. Someone else might have charged outside to face the stranger. Not Grillby. Partially because of the rain, partially because, well, there is nothing wrong with standing on the street in the rain, and there still was a chance that to the stranger outside, Grillby’s was just a bar among others. Just a meaningless backdrop to whatever he was doing. And it was none of Grillby’s business to interfere.

That doubt was quickly shaken off once Grillby took the time to observe the figure in the rain. All this time he had thought that the other just stood under his umbrella. No. He watched as the stranger shifted his weight from one leg to the other, turned, and walked to the door. Grillby waited a beat, two. But the door didn’t open, and the figure returned to his spot with hasty steps.

This repeated a total of three, maybe four times during the whole evening. Eventually the stranger walked into the rain, and Grillby was left to wonder what he should do. There were still reasons, rational reasons that had nothing to do with Grillby himself for someone to act like that. Maybe the stranger was trying to overcome a terrible shyness, and was gathering his courage to come to a place filled with people. Maybe he was a curious human who wanted to visit a monster bar, but didn’t quite dare to walk in. Maybe maybe maybe.

The next night was clear, and the stranger didn’t come. And so was the night after that. Grillby didn’t know if he wanted the figure outside his window to stay away or not.

But then it rained again. And there he was, standing outside, his back to the bar window, sheltered by an umbrella.

And at this point Grillby was very much _done_ second-guessing. He finished the orders he had at hand, took a quick glance to make sure he could afford to abandon his post behind the bar counter for a minute or two, and headed outside.

As the he opened the door the sound of rain hit him full force, raindrops beating into the glistening asphalt. The smell was powerful, what was that word, that long complicated word- _petrichor_.

And in the rain stood the stranger. He was wearing a long black coat, long enough to almost reach the ground, and the umbrella in his pale hands was just as black. Pale hands, no, they were white, white spindly phalanges gripping the handle tight, large round holes in the centre of his palms.

The stranger, alerted by the sound of the door opening, turned to look at Grillby in return. The umbrella lifted higher, out of the way. Two cracks marred the round, smooth skull, one from the top of the head the right eye socket, one connecting the other to a thin mouth. The eye sockets were large, and they were staring at Grillby. Like a deer caught in headlights.

“Good evening”, Grillby broke the silence between them.

The other opened his mouth, no sound came out, he closed it again. But when he managed to speak, it all came out as a fast torrent of words.

“Evening, yes, I’m sorry, you must have come here to tell me to stop loitering in front of your bar! It’s quite alright, I’ll be on my way right now, you should really go back inside before you get wet. Good evening!”

And the other had already turned on his heel and hurried away, long strides carrying him through the downpour.

“Hey, wait-!” Grillby reached his hand towards the stranger- pulled it back with a pained hiss as the rain hit his fire.

By the time he looked up again, the stranger had already disappeared into the night.

After that Grillby felt even more determined to figure out the mystery of his stranger in the rain. Maybe because now he had a face to assign his thoughts to. And a voice, that strange voice of odd intonations and pronunciations. Like a thick accent- but not at all. The stranger’s words echoed inside his head. _‘Good evening! It’s quite all right, I’m sorry! You should really go back inside before you get wet! Good evening! I’m sorry, Grillby! You should go inside-!’_ Grillby repeated their conversation in this head, over and over and over, imagining what he could have said, should have said, and what the other would have answered.

But he felt unsure of what he should do. Talking in the doorway was no way to have a conversation. And what if the stranger fled again?

What if he never came back?

A rainy night, then another. Grillby was almost relieved when he saw the stranger outside on the third night.

And thanks to a stroke of luck, he didn’t even need to debate with himself on what to do.

The stranger stood outside, but now another silhouette passed him. A short, round silhouette Grillby could have recognized anywhere.

“sure you don’t want to just come inside?” Sans asked, holding the door open as he entered. Grillby listened carefully, straining to hear the words over the rain.

The figure shook his head.

“for such a smart guy you sure are acting like a numbskull, but suit yourself.” Sans let the door swing closed after himself, and walked to his usual seat at the bar.

“evening, grillbz.”

Grillby handed Sans a bottle of ketchup.

“Do you know him?”

Sans took a sip from the bottle. “who?”

Grillby nodded towards the figure outside.

“oh, him. yeah.”

Hope rose inside Grillby.

“Who is he? Why does he keep standing in the rain, why doesn’t he come inside? Why does he ever only come here when it rains anyway? Could you talk to him-?”

“woah, woah. hold your horses.”

Grillby snapped his mouth shut. Sans took a deep breath.

“listen. this is a mess i’m not allowed to get involved in. _but_ -” Sans raised his hand to interrupt Grillby before he began to complaint, “you can borrow my umbrella if you want.”

Sans placed a blue, rolled up umbrella on the bar table. It was still dripping wet.

“just. he’ll keep doing this dumb crap until you talk to him. and honestly, it’s staring to get old.”

Grillby hesitated a moment. Why was Sans being like this? Then he grabbed the umbrella and went to face the stranger.

“Hello again”, Grillby greeted as he stepped outside, opening the blue umbrella.

The other had already taken a half-step to leave-

“Wait, don’t go!”

The stranger froze.

Grillby scrambled to find his words.

“I’m not here to chase you away for loitering, or for anything, really. I just want to talk.”

The stranger turned to face Grillby, slowly, carefully.

The raindrops pitter-pattered into puddles, water gushed into a storm drain.

The other was studying Grillby’s face, expression concentrated, as if Grillby’s features held the answer to some riddle.

“Who… who are you?” Grillby asked.

The stranger flinched. He took a deep breath, and fixed his gaze on the wet ground.

“Nobody of consequence.”

Grillby didn’t know what to do with an answer like that. Should he press on? Or leave it be?

A car sped by, sloshing the roadside puddles. The rain rapped on their umbrellas.

“Quite the weather”, Grillby stated. The stranger nodded.

“The sea breeze brings rain when the clouds climb up the mountains-”

 Suddenly a strong gust of wind caught the stranger’s umbrella, tearing it from his hands. He yelped, trying to grab it as it fell to the ground. Without thinking, Grillby stepped forward, shielding them both from the rain with his umbrella. The crouching skeleton, having managed a grip on the black fabric span by the metal, slowly stood up. They were close to each other, very close, just a hands width between them. The stranger stared, opened and closed his mouth, took a deep breath. Stepped away, and raised his own umbrella.

“Thank you, Grillby.”

“Oh it’s… nothing…” Grillby blinked, once, twice. “How do you know my name?”

The stranger stood very still for a moment.

“You _are_ aware of the glowing letters the size of a cat on your wall?” he deadpanned and pointed at the neon sign declaring the name of the bar, and by extension, the name of it’s owner.

“Oh.”

A subtle grin spread on the stranger’s face at Grillby’s reaction. Grillby chuckled.

“I guess it’s a bit obvious.”

“Hehe, a bit.” The stranger paused. “Shouldn’t you be inside? Away from the rain?”

Grillby shrugged. “I’ve got an umbrella.”

“The water will seep in through your shoes.”

Grillby tilted his head.

“Have yourfeet gotten wet?”

The stranger shifted his weight form foot to foot. “A bit. But I’m not made out of fire, so.”

“Still, it can’t be comfortable, having your feet cold like that.” Grillby weighed his words for a moment. “Would… would you like to come inside for a bit? A cup of coffee would warm you right up.”

The stranger fidgeted, twirling his umbrella on his shoulder. “I- I don’t know…”

“It’s just some coffee. Hey, how about this: it’s on the house. Just this once.” Grillby gave his warmest smile.

The stranger hesitated. Then he nodded.

“Alright. Just for a cup.”

 

 

 

Grillby held the door open for Gaster as he entered the bar. The warmth surrounded him; he hadn’t even realized how cold the downpour outside was. These was some hustle and bustle, Gaster was able pick out a word of two, like _Grillby_ and _rain_ and _outside_ and _why_ and _who_ , all in a blur that was just too loud. He tried to zone it all out. He had more important things to concentrate on.

Like the fact that he had hovered outside long enough for Grillby to venture into the rain just to get him.

Like that fact that after all this time he was back.

Like the fact that Grillby had seen his face and talked to him and still had no idea who he was.

Gaster wasn’t an idiot. He knew how this worked. One can’t remember someone who never existed. His own _son_ hadn’t recognized him. There was no reason for Grillby to be any different.

_Not for a second_ had Gaster thought that at the mere sight of him the memories would flood back, and Grillby would just fall into his arms. As if Gaster was a lover lost at sea, finally returning home.

But…

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped for… something.

Anything.

Gaster took a seat at the bar, next to Sans. Grillby returned the umbrella he had borrowed.

“heya.”

“Hello, Sans”, Gaster greeted with a quick glare. He signed quickly, his hands kept under the table where Grillby couldn’t see: _‘You said that you wouldn’t get involved.’_

_‘You’re welcome.’_ Sans signed back.

“How do you like your coffee?” Grillby asked.

Something about that simple, innocent question stabbed Gaster. Had- had Grillby ever asked that before? No, he had seen Gaster make his own coffee, and made a mental note. Grillby had surprised Gaster with a cup many times.

But Grillby didn’t know. Grillby didn’t know anything anymore.

Gaster steeled himself. He could do this. He’d just have to be patient. He’d have to tell Grillby these things, let Grillby re-learn it all. They’d be just like they had been, eventually.

Eventually.

“Milk, no sugar, please.” And Grillby got to work. Every move happened with practiced ease.

“The fat of the milk binds with the tannins of the coffee, so it wont taste as bitter”, Gaster said, to nobody in particular. He just wanted to stave off the silence.

“And it’s the same reason you’re supposed to drink red wine with fatty foods, like salmon. The tannins in the wine clean off the fat from the tongue”, he continued.

“Huh. I always thought it was a taste palette thing”, Grillby contemplated as he placed Gaster’s coffee in front of him.

“It is, partially. Having the fat out of the way makes the food taste better.” Gaster sipped his coffee. Excellent, as always. He smiled. “Thank you, this is very good.”

Grillby smiled, a few warm, pleased streaks flickering through his flame. He picked up a glass to polish.

Gaster stirred his coffee, just to give himself something to do. Sans drank his ketchup. Grillby polished the glass. The bar chattered quietly in the background.

“I’m sorry. But I have to ask: why were you standing in the rain? Were you… waiting for someone?” Grillby broke the silence between them.

”No, I…” Gaster took a breath before reciting his pre-prepared excuse. “I’ve been… through some things, recently. I’m trying to readjust to the world, visiting places with people, and noise, and- and. I experience sensory input stronger than usual. I’m getting used to it, but going to crowded places still feels… intimidating. So- yeah. Sans always speaks so highly of your bar, so I thought it would be a good place to… get accustomed to all the input.”

 Most of it wasn’t even a lie. After his return, dealing with how _intense_ the world was when experienced first hand had been gruelling. It was getting better now, but he still got headaches sometimes, if the noise got too loud or the smells too strong.

”How do you two know each other?”

Sans grinned.

“oh, we first met at his work-”

“Sans. Don’t.” Gaster groaned.

“gosh, it feels like it was a lifetime ago-”

“ _Sans_.”

“i’ve put up so much weight since then-”

“You’re turning the greatest moment of my life into a _weak comedy sketch_.”

“so anyway, i was crying because- wait, what do you mean _weak?_ this is hilarious!”

Gaster pinched his nose bridge. “Because it’s only funny to those who are already in on the joke.”

“well, you’re in on the joke, therefore this is funny to you, so stop complaining! hey, tell Grillby about the bit where you literally had to carry me out-”

“I’m disowning you.”

“that’s was you said last time, yet here we are.” Sans said with a shrug.

“…I am very confused”, Grillby said. Sans laughed. Gaster rubbed his face, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

“alright, dad, i’ll stop.”

The glass shattered on the floor.

“ _’Dad’_!? He’s your-!? Your _father_ -?” Grillby looked frantically back and forth between the two skeletons, his flame burning high, giving off shocked sparks. “You have _parents!?_ ”

“Well, not plural ‘parents’. It’s just me.” Gaster corrected, stirring his coffee again. _You were the first one I told. I called you in the middle of the night, panicking, trying to explain over the receiver that I just accidentally made a baby, a fucking BABY, two in fact, even though you were still half asleep. Not that you’d remember,_ he thought bitterly.

“so shocked there, grillbz. didn’t you notice the family resemblance at all?” Sans deadpanned, still much too amused about the situation than he had any right to be.

Grillby began cleaning up the shards of glass from the floor.

“…I just always thought you and Papyrus just… crawled out of glasses of milk one day or something…” Grillby said, still utterly perplexed.

“You’re not that far off, actually”, Gaster muttered too quietly for anyone to hear, thinking back at the suspension tanks where his children had been incubated.

Sans grinned and finished his ketchup with one big swig. “well, it’s been fun, but i’ve gotta go. paps needs his bedtime story. bye.” Under the table he signed: _‘Good luck.’_

“Bye, Sans”, Grillby said with a wave.

“See you at home.” Gaster watched Sans disappear into the night. He hoped Sans used a ‘shortcut’, the wet roads could be dangerous at night.

“A parent…” Grillby sighed. “Neither of them ever even hinted at them having any other family than each other, let alone a father…”

Grillby turned to look at Gaster, his flame gaining angry red streaks.

“So where the _hell_ have _you_ been?”

“I didn’t _willingly choose_ to abandon my children, if that’s what you’re insinuating”, Gaster snapped. He did not need that accusatory tone, not from Grillby!

Grillby recoiled, his flame returning to its normal warm orange. He tilted his head.

“What happened, then?”

Gaster looked at his hands on his lap.

“There was…”

_Falling._

_Shattering. Pain. Shattering. Numbness._

_Falling._

_Darkness. Silence._

_Eternal, eternal, overwhelming nothingness-_

_Falling._

_Eternally_

_f a l l i n g-_

“…an accident.”

Gaster squeezed his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists, trying to ground himself to the sensation of his phalanges digging into his palms. Fighting to keep his breathing even.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

Why was his damn voice so shaky? He opened his eye sockets, fixing them on the cup before him. He didn’t trust his hand not to spill the coffee if he reached for it.

“What happened left me more dead than alive. It’s a miracle I’m even here now.”

“Hey.”

There was a gentle touch on his shoulder. Gaster looked up, and there was Grillby, warm, bright, worried.

“I…” Grillby swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you- okay, I meant to _a little_ \- I mean-” Grillby pulled his hand back. “Sans and Papyrus mean a lot to me. I just thought that- to think that someone would just leave them to fend for their own when they were just-”

“I know.” Gaster forced a smile. “I’m mad at myself too.”

To that, after scrambling a bit, Grillby said nothing. He then picked up another glass to polish.

Gaster sipped his coffee.

So. Seeing his face, a conversation, and being told his connection to his sons. Still nothing.

Perhaps he should give Grillby a stronger push? Maybe he’d trigger something if…

“You know, we’ve met before, actually.” Gaster said, careful to keep his tone casual.

Grillby looked up from the glass, and studied Gaster’s face. “We have?”

Gaster nodded.

“It was during the war. We were in the same unit together. I was a medic, I patched you up more than a few times.” Gaster stirred his coffee. Does it still count as lying if one intentionally misleads with the partial truth?

“We even shared a tent for a while.” _I’d pretend to be cold so that I could curl up next to you for the night. And you’d pretend to be annoyed, that you were just putting up with me so that I wouldn’t get sick. It took you_ forever _to admit that you needed the comfort just as badly as I did._

“I don’t… What did you say your name was?” Grillby said slowly, unsurely.

Gaster looked Grillby in the eye, searching, praying for something, anything. Even the slightest glimmer of recognition.

“Gaster. I’m doctor W. D. Gaster.”

_Royal scientist, father of Sans and Papyrus, and_ your goddamn lover!

Not a flicker. Not a spark. Nothing.

“I don’t…” Grillby slowly shook his head.

“It’s alright.” It took Gaster everything he had to keep his face even. To keep himself together.

“It was a very long time ago. I’m not expecting you to remember.”

 

 

 

Gaster walked along the trail path, the forest around him blessedly quiet. The air already smelled so much cleaner than in the city. The gravel crunched under his feet.

It was a strange sensation to visit a place he had only seen from the Void. To hear the sounds unfiltered. To see the light sharp. To affect the world around him at the flick of a wrist.

His time in the Void, once he got used to it… It had been like being trapped under the ice of a wintery lake. Floating, sinking in the darkness. Cold. Quiet. Numb.

No light.

No sound.

Only the ever-expanding darkness.

Time didn’t exist.

He didn’t exist.

And yet…

Something he could call himself had lingered.

Something half-conscious, something barely self-aware.

Something slowly coming to the realization that he should be more than that.

And so he did. He had gathered himself, tried to claw together the jumbled mess of his memories. Tried to desperately cling to the glimpses of reality he could see through the cracks in the Void. And with a great deal of effort, he had learned to push his magic trough those cracks.

Nothing much, never much. Just a knocked over glass, just the rustle of the curtain. But sometimes it was enough to bring a smile. And seeing that smile through the sheet of ice, muted and warped but still something he recognized had been enough to keep him going. To keep hoping that one day he would be back on the other side of the ice.

And now he was.

The trail ended, and Gaster stopped by the lake. The large canopy of dark wood, the picnic tables and benches were exactly where they had been. The waves quietly lapped the rocky waterfront. This place was nice. Calm. Maybe he should bring Grillby for a date here sometime, once they got that far.

He headed straight to the edge of reeds where the flowers grew.

 

“Evening”, Gaster greeted as he sat by the bar.

“The usual?” Grillby asked, already reaching for the coffee machine.

“Yes, please. Also, I brought you something”, Gaster said, presenting the small bouquet of forget-me-nots.

“I noticed you had these on you counter, and that they were about to wilt. And I saw these on a walk, and though that I’d bring you new ones”, he explained. Even voice, friendly smile, that’s it.

“I… thank you. You shouldn’t have.” Grillby took for the flowers, but Gaster noticed the flickers of green in his flame. Crap. Too forward. And now he had made Grillby uncomfortable.

“I just thought they were pretty, and that you’d like them. Since you already had some.” Gaster was floundering.

Grillby didn’t answer, just placed Gaster’s coffee on in front of him.

“Thank you.” Gaster sipped his coffee. “So, how has you day been?”

“Good”, Grillby shrugged.

“…I’ve been good, too”, Gaster said before the silence began hanging in the air.

Grillby nodded, then walked off. He had to take an order, that was fine. This was his workplace after all. He couldn’t just stand there having awkward conversations with Gaster all day.

Gaster wanted to bury his face in his hands, or scream, maybe both. Why did this have to be so hard!? It had been nothing like this the last time!

Gaster sighed. He had to face the reality.

His and Grillby’s friendship had been forged in the heat of battle.  They had been pressed back to back by circumstance, with not much other options than to take the plunge together. And it was very hard not to grow fond of someone when you saved each other’s lives on a regular basis.

Even after the war, it was so much easier to lean on someone who had been through the same hell. Someone who knew exactly what had happened, and what it had felt like.

And when it was all said and done, Gaster had found himself with an irreplaceable friend.

Gaster loved Grillby, that much he always knew. He loved how calm he was, how reliable. But it had taken a long time for Gaster to realize that it wasn’t the friendship-type of love he felt. That if Grillby would want to nuzzle him and kiss him and maybe get a little touchy under the clothes, Gaster would be very okay with that.

And when it turned out that Grillby did want all those things and more? When they shared their first kiss, fumbly and coy and oh so tender?

Gaster hadn’t thought there could possibly be a way for him to be happier than he was at that moment.

And now…

And now he was struggling to even have a conversation with Grillby.

Gaster had never been any good at the whole ‘making friends’ thing. People and the social dance were an intricate system beyond his comprehension, and a system he had not been particularly interested in comprehending, to be honest.

And Gaster had never realized just how introverted Grillby could be.

He sipped his coffee, quietly watching as Grillby moved around the bar, completely oblivious how much Gaster yearned for the slightest gesture that he was more than just another customer to him.

It would be alright. He would just have to be patient. Give Grillby the time to warm up to him.

He had gotten Grillby to fall in love with him once already.

It couldn’t be that hard to do it again, could it?

 

 

 

 

Another day, another evening spent at Grillby’s. The rain rapped the windows as Gaster tried to make his coffee last as long as possible.

Grillby had been even less chatty than usual. The brand new, shiny jukebox had broken, and Grillby was cranky about it, his fire flickering in small bursts of flame. So for music, Grillby had brought his radio from home, but the reception was pretty bad.

Gaster was torn. What was the appropriate thing to do here? Would trying to cheer Grillby up be weird?

“Hey, have you heard the one where an infinite amount of mathematicians walk into a bar?” Gaster began, trying to keep his tone cheerful.

Grillby didn’t look up from the glass he was polishing.

“Is this the ‘half of a half-pint’ one?” he asked, just the hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Yeah”, Gaster said, his smile dropping. Argh. He should have just given Grillby space. “It’s that one.”

He looked down at his half-empty coffee cup.

“It’s not that good of a joke, honestly”, he admitted. “I just think the concept of an infinite amount of mathematicians walking into a bar is funny.”

“Mmm.”

Silence hung in the air once again, save for the radio. Gaster frowned. This station was garbage, why had Grillby picked this? It never even played the kind of music Grillby liked! There had to be something better on. Maybe some peppy tune to cheer Grillby up? What was that station with the new DJ Sans liked again?

“Hey, I was listening that”, Grillby said, more blatantly annoyed.

Gaster froze. He hadn’t even realized he had already begun fiddling with the dials of the radio.

“Sorry”, he said, quickly pulling his hand away.

“I just thought that- that the station isn’t very good.”

“It’s playing the news soon”, Grillby shrugged.

The news. Of course. More stories of hate groups, or natural disasters, or however else the world was awful these days. _That_ would cheer up Grillby _for sure_.

Gaster let the radio be.

It felt like he didn’t know how to do anything right anymore. He had thought that he _knew_ Grillby. He could still read Grillby: Gaster knew every flicker, every shade, every spark of his flame, and what each and every one of them meant. It was funny, almost. Grillby had such stoic features, his expression betraying noting, while he practically wore his heart on his sleeve once one knew how his fire acted. And Gaster had thought he knew what Grillby liked, didn’t like, how to make him smile and laugh no matter what. But now, whatever he did, it was wrong. Grillby was indifferent, or uncomfortable. The warmth Gaster remembered was gone.

Maybe Grillby had changed while Gaster was in the Void.

Or maybe Gaster had changed. He was different, at least. More nervous, more tired. Maybe he wasn’t someone Grillby would even like anymore.

Just a broken, jumpy mess, with nothing to offer…

Maybe…

“Grillby?”

Grillby lifted his gaze from the glass he was polishing, and looked at Gaster.

No.

He looked _through_ Gaster, as is he wasn’t even there.

Realization hit him. It was like a lightning strike, but without the thunder.

It wouldn’t work. None of it would work. Not anymore.

And it would be in vain to stall a mercy, wouldn’t it?

“I think I’m done now”, Gaster said, digging his wallet from his pocket.

“You still have half your coffee left”, Grillby said, a question beneath his voice.

“Sunk cost fallacy.”

“What?”

“Sunk cost fallacy”, Gaster repeated. “It’s a term in economics. It’s the concept that people feel like they have to do things they don’t want to do because they already paid for it. They’re already invested in it, so there is this mental obligation to finish. But it’s stupid. The cost is already sunk, one isn’t going to get it back by going through with whatever it is. I waited for too long, and the coffee went cold. There’s no point for me to force myself to drink it when it’s not even pleasant, just for the sake of some foolish completionism. ”

Gaster paid. Grillby shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I could make you fresh cup?” Grillby offered.

“No. But thank you”, Gaster said.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, and took one last look at Grillby.

“For everything.”

The door to the bar clicked shut, the quiet sound holding finality.

Funny how a _coup de grâce_ could both hurt and be a relief at the same time.

Gaster walked into the rain.

 

 

 

“HAS ANYONE SEEN MY CAR KEYS?” Papyrus’s voice rang through the apartment.

Gaster didn’t look up from the Sudoku on his lap. The keys were on the kitchen counter, where Papyrus had placed them when he came home from the grocery store, arms full of paper bags. Gaster grabbed the keys with blue magic, and shook them so that they jingled.

“THANK YOU FATHER!” Papyrus strode into the kitchen. “BUT REMEMBER THAT YOU CAN ALSO SAY THINGS!”

Gaster blinked. Oh. Right. Verbal communication was an option now.

“Where are you off to?” Gaster asked, filling in a number to one of the boxes. He leaned back on the couch. That was the last number six, wasn’t it?

“TO UNDYNE’S! WE’RE MAKING PASTA AL FORNO!” Papyrus peaked into the living room. “YOU KNOW, GRILLBY’S IS ON THE WAY THERE. I COULD GIVE YOU A RIDE!”

Gaster held his pencil a little tighter.

“I’m not going there tonight.” He took a breath. “Or any other night, for that matter.”

Papyrus stopped in the doorway.

“BUT WHAT ABOUT REKINDLING YOUR EPIC ROMANCE WITH GRILLBY? THE DATING MANUAL SAID THAT IT’S IMPORTANT TO SPEND TIME WITH THE OBJECT OF ONES AFFECTIONS DURING COURTSHIP!”

“Papyrus, I… Me and Grillby…” Gaster’s hands shook, the pencil hovering above the paper. “It’s… it’s not going to work out.”

Papyrus paused for a moment, and then pocketed his car keys. He walked over to the couch and sat down next to Gaster.

“DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?”

Gaster shook his head, placing his pencil and Sudoku on the coffee table. He then wrapped his arms around himself.

“Nothing specific. I suppose I just reached a tipping point. It just… It hurts. It hurts to already love him when he barely knows who I am. And it’s so hard to pretend like we are strangers, like I don’t already know him. I constantly have calculate what I’m supposed to know about him, and what he doesn’t remember telling me. And whenever I try to- he just keeps rejecting me.”

Papyrus fidgeted, wringing his gloved hands together.

“DO YOU THINK HE MIGHT REMEMBER WHAT YOU TWO HAD IF YOU TOLD HIM? I MEAN, WHEN SANS TOLD ME THAT YOU WERE OUR FATHER, IT IMMEDIATELY SOUNDED RIGHT.”

“This is different”, Gaster said, shaking his head. “You are my son, Papyrus. You were born from my dust and magic. Your Soul recognizes me as your family, even if you aren’t consciously aware of it.”

“…SOMETIMES IT FEELS LIKE I REMEMBER THINGS.” Papyrus was looking at his hands. “I CAN PICTURE YOU READING TO US, OR BRINGING US TO THE LABORATORY, AND THINGS LIKE THAT.”

Gaster paused to think about what Papyrus had said. Could-? No.

 “You probably are just constructing memories in your head based on things Sans and I have told you.” He sighed. “It’s okay, everyone does it. But it’s still not a true memory.”

Papyrus frowned.

“OKAY, MAYBE GRILLBY WON’T REMEMBER YOU. BUT YOU COULD STILL-”

“Papyrus.” Gaster’s voice was quiet. “Sometimes it’s better to let go than to try and hold on.”

“SO YOU’RE JUST GIVING UP?”

“I’m not giving up. I’m surrendering.” Gaster closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch.

“I died, and Grillby moved on. Now it’s time I do the same.”

 

 

 

 

There was something calming about the park bench under the willow. A small stream was flowing nearby, the soft purl of the water so endlessly soothing. The flowerbeds across the path smelled wonderful. The willow provided shade, the bench a place to rest. But best of all, it was a delightfully secluded spot. So whenever Gaster wanted to escape the noise of the people around him, or simply be alone with his thoughts, he’d come there.

That day, it was the latter.

The sun was shining for a change. The sky was as blue as the grass was green. A beautiful day, perfect for a game of catch.

He heard steps approaching, the gravel rhythmically crunching beneath the feet of whoever was walking down to path. Gaster closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face as he waited for the stranger to pass. The he could get back to his musings.

“Hey.”

Recognizing the voice, Gaster’s eyes snapped open. And there was Grillby of all people, haloed by the sun.

“Can I sit here?”

Gaster didn’t answer. But he did scoot over on the bench, making room for Grillby, who sat down.

They sat in silence for a moment. Gaster wondered if he could make some excuse to leave. He might have accepted that what he had had with Grillby was lost to the Void, but there was no need to rub salt into the wound.

“You haven’t been to the bar lately”, Grillby stated.

“Mmmm.”

A gust of wind rustled the willow.

“Those are nice”, Grillby said, nodding toward the flowerbed across the bench. “I like the shade of purple.”

“Hyacinths”, Gaster nodded.

“You know flowers?”

“Not really”, Gaster said with a shrug. “But I had a friend who was- _is_ very enthusiastic about gardening. I learned a fair bit by social osmosis.” He thought back to Asgore and his flower filled throne room. He had heard that the king of monsters was a gardener now. Good. It suited Asgore.

“I wonder what they mean”, Grillby said. “Did you know flowers have this whole secret symbolism thing? For- Uh, baby’s breath means innocence for example.”

“I don’t know about symbolism. There is a story to hyacinths, though.”

“Oh?”

Gaster looked up to the sky.

“In legend, there was this beautiful Spartan prince called Hyacinthus the sun god Apollo fell in love with. And they were very happy together. But Hyacinthus had another admirer: Zephyr, the West Wind. Who was, unfortunately, of the opinion that if he can’t have Hyacinthus, no one can. So one day, when Apollo and the young prince were throwing the discus, in his jealousy Zephyr shifted the wind, and the discus hit Hyacinthus in the head, shattering his skull. To at least preserve the beauty of his dying lover, Apollo turned him into a flower.”

They sat there for a moment, neither saying a word.

“That’s sad”, Grillby finally commented.

“Yeah”, Gaster agreed.

The stream purled quietly. The hyacinths swayed in the breeze, leaves reaching toward the sun.

“The jukebox was finally fixed.” Grillby said, breaking the silence.

“Good to hear.”

“You should come check it out sometime. It got a bunch of new songs installed, too.”

Gaster froze. After all this time of practically ignoring him, Grillby was inviting him back to his bar?

_Maybe you could try again_ , a little voice inside his skull tempted. _Maybe this time it’ll be different._

Gaster mentally squashed the voice. No. He had worked hard to finally let go. He wasn’t about to fall into the same trap again.

“I don’t think I’ll have the time. I’ve been terribly busy, you see.” Gaster stood up. “As a matter of fact, I really should get going.”

He didn’t look back as he began to walk down the path.

“Good day to you-”

The crunch of gravel, and his arm was grabbed, making him stop to a halt.

“Please don’t run away again.” Grillby’s voice sounded so small.

Gaster turned, slowly. It was indeed Grillby’s hand gripping into this coat. Their eyes met, and Grillby quickly pulled away.

“I just- I think I need to talk to you.” Grillby held his hands by his chest, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I thought about talking to you about it a lot earlier but I hoped it’d go away if I ignored it because it’s honestly _freaking me out_ and I _know_ you’ll think I’m crazy but-” Grillby paused his torrent of words only long enough to take a breath. “And when you left it sounded a lot like a goodbye.”

Gaster tried to take in what Grillby was trying to say.

“I think you’ll have to start a bit further back”, he said slowly.

Grillby nodded, running his fingers through the flame on top of his head. His stress gesture, accompanied with little flickers of purple and deep green.

“It began with small things. That night, when you came in the bar the first time? And I asked how you liked your coffee? The minute you opened your mouth I somehow knew what you were going to say. And it felt like- I mean, I had _just_ met you! There were these little moments of déjà vu whenever you showed up. It all feels like- And the other day I hear this dumb science joke and thought ‘oh, Gaster will love this’ and I had my phone already out before I realized I don’t even have your number! And- And I thought I could just ignore it, try not to think about it, but you kept coming to my bar, and I thought not talking to you might help. It didn’t, it’s been driving me up the wall! And then- then the dreams started.” Grillby swallowed, his flickering getting more intense by the minute.

“I never, _ever_ remember my dreams. But one morning I woke up, and it was all in my head, clear as day. We were in a tent, and you said that you were cold, and asked if you could sleep next to me, and I groaned and rolled over to make room for you. And you were lying, I knew you were lying, and you knew _I knew_ you were lying, but we both just- pretended.” Grillby barely paused for air.

“You said that we met in the war, so I thought maybe it was something lingering from those times, but when I try to recall you- when I try to recall _anything_ from the war there is just nothing. Nothing! And the dreams kept happening, stuff that couldn’t even have been in the war. You helping me install the jukebox, us ice skating, me babysitting Papyrus when he was just a toddler because Sans was sick-”

“Grillby, slow down”, Gaster said. Grillby was getting more and more frantic.

“-and none of them feel like dreams, they feel like they actually happened! But they couldn’t have! I remember when I first met Sans and Papyrus, they were teenagers! And then there’s you, you kept looking at me like- like you were expecting something of me.”

Grillby was breathing too fast now, gripping his head.

“Please. I don’t know if I’m going crazy, or why you‘re in the centre of it all. I tried to ignore it, I tried to make it go away, but it’s not working, and it’s _freaking me out_. Please.”

Grillby closed his eyes, shoulders shaking as tears spilled over.

“I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

“Grillby”, Gaster whispered, gently gripping Grillby’s hands and bringing them down. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

Grillby gave a choked sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m- I’ve- I’ve been holding all that in for a while now.”

Gaster made sure Grillby breathed slowly as he tried to piece together what the other has spilled out.

“Grillby.” Gaster began slowly after the other had calmed down a little. “Have you ever thought about a world where everything is exactly the same… Except you don't exist?”

“What?”

Gaster tried to gather himself.

“Imagine a world with a person in it. As person who has his life, his jobs and hobbies and loved ones. And then, by some magic or machine, he’s removed from the world. Not killed. It is made that he never excised. His file is deleted, his page on the book of life is ripped out. Everything functions perfectly without him... But a hole is left behind nonetheless.” Gaster paused, trying to detach himself from the words he was saying.

“And imagine that someone knew this person. A hole is left in his mind. And as this someone goes about his life, it’s possible-even probable-that he’d bump into the edges of the hole. Maybe he’d be able to take in the edges, maybe even reconstruct the silhouette of the person who now never was.”

“I- I don’t understand…”

Suddenly there was a gentle, warm touch on his face. Grillby had lifted his hand and was now cupping his cheek.

“…Do I know you?” he whispered.

“You knew me. Once”, Gaster answered, leaning into the touch. “Now you have never known me.”

“And… what were you to me?”

Gaster stepped back, balling his hands into fists, concentrating on the sensation of his phalanges digging into his palms. _I died, and Grillby moved on._

“Does it matter?” he said.

Grillby stared at him.

As step on the gravel as Grillby closed the distance between them, a warm hand on the back of his neck as Grillby grabbed him, and hot lips pressed against his teeth as Grillby kissed him.

Gaster’s body reacted on instinct, and by the time his mind had caught up, he was tightly pressed against Grillby, one arm around his waist, another on the back of his head, desperately answering the kiss. He could feel Grillby pulling him ever closer, taste Grillby’s smoky aroma, he scrabbled for more of Grillby’s mouth as if the he was drowning and Grillby was precious air.

By the time they pulled away from each other, Gaster felt dizzy. He slowly opened his eyes, finding his breathless expression mirrored on Grillby’s face.

“Grillby”, he whimpered, tears spilling over. “Grillby, Grillby-!”

Gaster dove in for another kiss.

 

 

 

The rain rapped against Gaster’s umbrella as he walked through the drenched city streets, doing little jumps as he skipped over puddles and small streams. Gaster quietly hummed some children’s song he couldn’t quite remember the words for, something about a crocodile playing the accordion.

After their kiss in the park Gaster and Grillby has sat down on the bench again, and Gaster had explained, well, pretty much everything. Everything from when they first met, how they became a couple, what they used to have, about the accident, the Void, to how Sans had managed to build a machine to rescue him.

Grillby, well. He admitted that he didn’t really understand most of it. But he had said that Gaster’s telling’s of their shared past sounded right, _felt_ right, and that it was good enough for him.

It wasn’t like flipping a switch that would suddenly restore their relationship to what it used to be. Grillby still didn’t actively remember the time before Gaster was erased. And Gaster hadn’t been wrong to say that him and Grillby weren’t the same as before.

But now they were there to start again, maybe not simply picking up from where they had left off, but not completely anew either.

To his surprise, Gaster found out that he didn’t mind the resulting learning period all that much. It was very different from pining after Grillby, who none the wiser tried to push him away to make his weird dreams stop. Now they were crossing the bridge together.

There, along the street, warm light shone through the windows of Grillby’s, lighting the wet asphalt ablaze. Gaster paused by the door to shake the worst of the water from his umbrella before he walked in.

Warmth, the smell of good food and the noises of all sorts of good humours met him inside. Sans was sitting on his regular seat, Papyrus next to him a milkshake in his hands.

“Hello, boys”, Gaster greeted.

“hi dad.”

“MILK IS GOOD FOR THE BONES!” Papyrus scrambled to defend himself before Gaster even had the chance to ask.

Gaster chuckled as he sat next to his sons.

Then Grillby walked out of the kitchen, burning happy yellows and oranges as he saw Gaster.

“Good evening, darling”, Gaster said, smiling at the flicker of flustered blue and the handful of sparks that sputtered from Grillby’s flame at the pet name.

“Evening”, Grillby answered, leaning in to give a quick peck on Gaster’s cheek.

Raindrops rapped against the window glass.

**Author's Note:**

> Hyachints have a whole bunch of symbolism attached to them depending on colour (brashness and regret for example), but they are also associated with spring and rebirth ^^
> 
>  
> 
> Since I know you all are just dying to hear the full version: An infinite amount of mathematicians walk into a bar. The first one orders a pint. The second one orders a half-pint. The third one is a jokester and orders half of a half pint. The fourth one is also a jokester, and orders half of a half of a half pint. The rest of the mathematicians are all jokesters, and all order half of what the previous mathematician ordered.  
> The bartender rolls his eyes, scoffs: "You guys really need to learn your limits", and pours the gang two pints.
> 
> ...Math jokes are an... acquired taste :P
> 
> The song Gaster mentions is The Birthday Song of Crocodile Gena, it's this old russian ditty, hence the lack of any lyrics.
> 
>  
> 
> Not super stocked about how this one turned out, but eh. You gotta let 'em go at some point.
> 
> This is my very first sequel fic, so feedback would me much appreciated! ^^
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: [MY GOODNESS EVERYONE LOOK A FANART!](https://aeris-blue.tumblr.com/post/174679339645/anchestor-has-a-multitude-of-really-fun)


End file.
